


Our Endless Numbered Days

by vegarin



Category: Dark (TV 2017)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:48:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25431880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vegarin/pseuds/vegarin
Summary: Jonas, along with another version himself from their not-so-distant future, contemplates the possibility of choice. Spoilers for Season 3.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 33





	Our Endless Numbered Days

**Author's Note:**

> Dear god, _this show_.

* * *

Jonas doesn't believe in God, not in the way Adam believes time to be God, the destroyer of all things. But if Hell must exist, this has to be it. This would be it. This very moment.

Martha has stopped breathing, even though her blood still wells up between his fingers splayed over her chest. The wind outside seems to want to shake the house loose, or maybe it's just him, trembling with his sobbing breaths, blindly and in complete abandon.

But the door behind him creaks open, and he turns instinctively, pulling away from Martha without thinking, without wanting to—

And then he sees himself.

Another version of himself stands over him and Martha's body. But this isn't Adam, or even the older Jonas he has encountered before. This Jonas still looks like himself, as if he's from not too far into the future.

"We don't have much time," this other Jonas says, soft and quiet. But even as he pulls up Jonas, his own eyes seem to snag on Martha's body, just the same. Like he can't help himself.

"When did you come from? What are you—" Jonas starts, but stops when he sees a metal sphere that the other Jonas holds.

The house is still shaking and shuddering, quakes turning violent under their feet. The sphere is twisted between quick, adept fingers, and bright flickers of light float up and surround them.

And then, they're elsewhere.

The other Jonas stands across from him without any visible reaction, as if they haven't just teleported out of time—or space. Whatever has happened, this Jonas knows more, and is capable of different means of time travel. But things haven't gotten any better for him, in this version's future. He can tell from the look of himself, hollowed out and utterly damaged. Like looking at an old mirror, worn out and cracked.

Jonas knows he's losing himself, little by little, with every loss and every failure, and every encounter with himself makes that ever more clearer, even more searing. Where does all matter go? The law of conservation of mass dictates that the rest of him must remain somewhere in this universe, but he can feel himself, eroding and diminishing. Where does the rest of him go? Would it still remain somewhere? How much of himself would he— _could_ he—even retain?

Maybe nothing, Jonas thinks bleakly, remembering nothing of himself reflected back in Adam.

But this Jonas, in front of him, is at least recognizable as himself, even when he doesn't think he can see beyond the loss of Martha, her blood still fresh on his hands.

But he must. He must try. To go on.

Because he's promised her to put this right.

"What is that?" Jonas asks, trying to get his bearings together. The sphere that the other Jonas holds is clearly a time machine, except it's nothing like anything he's ever seen before, and well beyond his own abilities to build it himself right now.

"A machine that lets us cross time and realities." The other Jonas turns it in his palm, slow and pensive, before putting it back into the pocket in his jacket. "Martha gave it to me."

"Martha?" Hope savagely reaps into his chest. "Is she—"

"Not our Martha," says the other Jonas, hurriedly. There's apology in his voice, along with a deep edge of hurt that indicates the kind of pain seemingly equal to his own, without which Jonas would've been angry and raging, for giving hope and taking it away all so quickly. "She's not our Martha. There's another world. One that's twined with ours. Where I—we—don't exist. It's," he stops and takes a breath, "it's difficult to explain."

One moment, Jonas is at a loss. And then understanding, a realization, is there. "The version of the world that Claudia told us she's has seen. Where we don't exist."

The other Jonas nods. "Yes. Another reality of this Martha's—and this older Martha is at war with Adam, from our world."

Jonas should feel surprise at this, towering disbelief, at yet another curveball, yet another revelation. All he feels is resignation, this bone-deep weariness. Of course, he thinks. It makes sense, somehow, that the rug under his feet would be pulled out, yet again, and he would be caught without a safety net of sanity. "Who's the right side?"

"Does it matter?" the other Jonas asks, soft and bitter. "She's the other side of Adam, And she's no different, from any of the older versions of us."

"All of them are terrifying," Jonas finds himself saying, quietly and unthinkingly.

"They are," the other Jonas agrees, inflectionless, as if stating that yes, the sky is indeed blue. "Come on."

Jonas realizes belatedly that they are at the lake. _The_ lake. He takes a second to breathe in and follows the other version of himself toward the beach.

They stop not too far from the edge of the water, and there the other Jonas sits, almost crumbling as he does, on the white expanse of sand. Jonas does the same next to him. It's deserted and quiet, and he could only hear the rustles of the tree leaves in the breeze around the lake.

The other Jonas slowly, restlessly draws a symbol of infinity, a loop, with his finger on the sand.

"The other Martha—Eva—used a loophole to spin off other versions of herself during that fraction of a second before Apocalypse, when time stands still," the other Jonas says, as if any of this would make perfect, logical sense, if only you thought deeply about it. "And they used that same fraction of second to spin off another me, to take to their reality."

The question in his face must be obvious, because the other Jonas adds, "So that our two realities are forever tethered together, for the past to exist the same way it always has."

Jonas knows the length that Adam would go to insure the past happens exactly as it has, the same way that Eva must. And how they would never, ever stop. "What did you do?" Jonas asks.

There's something like a smile on his other self's face, maybe halfway becoming real. "Cheat time, just a little bit, just as they did."

"How?"

"Our world, our reality, is already anchored. There are other versions of us, locked in time. Other iterations of us, serving the roles we're meant to serve, dutifully, in futility. Because what choice do we have, really? We can't even die. We tried. We're immortal as long as time still exists."

Now the smile has the edge of bitterness that Jonas knows and shares. As is sadness, more palpable than ever.

"This version of us, you and me—we were spun off at the exact moment of Apocalypse, a variant of a loophole that Eva used. We're dispensable. Expendable. The course on our world is already set, and neither of us would have to be part of it for it to go on. If time doesn't have its hooks on you, then you can still die."

"How did you—" _know_ , Jonas almost asks, but stops, because the answer is distressingly obvious.

And it's confirmed when the other Jonas says, "Because older Martha kills me. Every time. And yet, in our world, Adam still lives. And the other older Jonas—he still draws breath."

There's no real discernible emotion in his other self. No pain or despair. Or any kind of emotion that such statements should warrant. As if this is only fair, only natural.

Maybe it is. Because in the end, they all think it's the right thing, to do whatever it is they end up doing. Even this fervent desire he is feeling right now, to right everything, in the end it would only lead to him becoming Adam. At the end, there is no choice. There's never been. Just a thin, guise of one, dangling in front of them, forever out of reach.

"When I found that out, I took the sphere and came to that moment before Apocalypse, to spin off another version of you, of us, from that split second," says the other Jonas. "One that's severed from our world, our reality, and therefore free from consequences."

"Why?" Jonas asks, suddenly afraid that his other self would refuse to answer, as so many others have before him.

But this Jonas is different, because he answers, "There are already entirely too many of us, anyway." There's a small ghost of a smile on himself. "What's one more?"

The other Jonas then slowly curls up into himself, arms hugging his own knees.

"Because I remember—wanting to be told, just once, that it was okay. That it was okay to fail. No need to fix anything that couldn’t be fixed, no need to right every wrong. I wanted to be there at least one reality, where it would be okay. _Just to be_."

Jonas remembers thinking the very same thing, even as he said the same words— _I'll make this right_ —to Martha, as she bled out in front of him.

"There are other versions of us, already locked in time's eternal cycle. So it's not a betrayal to their memory. To their loss. The price has already been paid, you and I already paid it and—" the other Jonas takes a deep breath and turns to him. "So it's okay. It's okay not to make a choice. Or to make a choice. It's not for or against any. It's no longer up to you, you see, so you can just _be_."

There are tears welling up in his eyes. In both of their eyes, in a mirror that neither of them can unsee.

He can't imagine it. Can't even feel it. It doesn't seem—real. He can't conceive the possibility that neither of them could have any measurable impact in this perpetual cycle.

That either of them could be free of time and unbound from certain choices.

But here it is, presented as a possibility. As a choice. Maybe too good to be true.

"Maybe this is us doing exactly what they want us to do," Jonas says, from one sobbing breath to the next. "Just as always playing right into their hands. How would we know if this would work?"

"I will kill myself," the other Jonas says, calm and collected. "If I succeed, then you will know. That time doesn't have us in its grasp and we—this—can be over. Then you can go ahead and live. Whatever the choice you decide to make, or not to."

There's small knife in his other self's hand already, as if he has been prepared for this inevitability.

"You thought you'd leave me a possibility of choice by killing yourself instead?" Even as Jonas asks, incredulously, he knows he's right. That's what the other Jonas had planned all along. Because of course he would.

Jonas reaches out and grasps the wrist of his other self's hand that holds the knife. Desperate, and sad beyond measure. "Just—stop. Stop for a moment. _Please_."

The other Jonas stares at his knife, then at his own hand. "This is—there's really no other way to know for sure. This is the only way."

"Just—not yet," he tries again. "Please. _Please_ don't." 

Every version of his future self has been total and absolute in their conviction and would never be dissuaded by any amount of words or tears. No amount of pleading and begging to himself, to _any_ version of himself, has ever worked, not in this never-ending cycle of Hell. But this Jonas, this version of himself from the near future, hesitates. As if pity, sympathy, and compassion can still exist within him even under the weight of the world, that not all of the emotions have been smothered and wrung out of him, not just yet.

"What's the point of _all of this_ if not for having a choice and exercising it?" Jonas asks, fiercely, even angrily. "Let's just—make it a choice. Choose to stay here. Just for a moment. For today. Please."

The other Jonas rubs his hand over his eyes. "I'm so tired," he says, voice quiet and fragile.

"I know. I _know_." Sudden tears well up in his eyes again. "Let's just have one day. Just one day." Of just breathing. Of being free of this crushing weight.

Slowly, the other Jonas drops the knife from his hand and covers his eyes.

Jonas breathes again, and even as more tears spill out, he can train his eyes back to the lake, to the glimmering, reflective sunlight on the water.

"Do you remember that day?" he asks.

Of course he does. It's a stupid question. Of course they both remember.

But the other Jonas answers anyway, eyes open again, "Yeah."

It has been a warm day, not unlike this one. A quiet day at the beach. With Bartosz. Magnus. And Martha.

The sound of their laughter from a long ago still echoes.

That stupid joke that Bartosz made. How did it go? He traces his recollection back to that moment, unspooling memories like Ariadne with her red yarn. Something about a rabbit, it was. Some nonsense about a rabbit holding up a gas station with a toy gun, maybe. Just before Magnus pushed Martha into the water. Her indignant yelp. And more laughter.

The yarn unspools more, and he remembers the warmth of the hug his mom has given him just before he was leaving to change history. He remembers Dad—Mikkel—and his gentle kiss on his forehead, even as they both cried, at the loss they had, and at the loss that would come. Because he's loved him, so endlessly, ceaselessly.

And Martha. Always Martha. The way her soft hand touched his face before the end of it all, even while knowing— _everything_. Who he was. Who she was. Because she loved him. And loves him. And will always do in that moment.

As he does. As he will. In the way that even time can't take away.

The sunlight is pleasant on his face. It dries his tears.

"It was a beautiful day," says the other Jonas, caressing the sand underneath his fingertips. He knows what his other self is remembering.

"It's a beautiful day today," he says.

"It is."

For a moment, time, for once kind and benevolent, stands still.

Jonas smiles a little, and closes his eyes in the sun.

**End**

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> This loophole in time theory probably wouldn't hold up to any close examination (damn the show's meticulous writers), but it's glued together with vague plausibility and hand-waving and wishful thinking on my part. After finishing the series, I just needed something, anything, like a plausible scenario where Jonas, our young Jonas, could find some semblance of peace, just so that _I_ could have a peace of mind. This is the closest I could manage quickly so I could stop being so sad.


End file.
